Chapter 11 Augustin
Gideon: He dog-eared the pages of your personal grimoire.
He spilled a goblet of vintage blood on your favourite white shirt.
He photobombed your oil portrait.
He told everyone at court that you have fang veneers.
C’mon, Augie, tell me why you hate di Sangro. Alaric might be able to deal with you keeping secrets, but not me!
I’m going to keep guessing until I annoy it out of you.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” HANNAH leans over the table, peering upside-down at the book open in front of me. She munches on a warm slice of garlic pizza bread.
“What does it look like? I’m reading.” I turn the page, my gaze skittering over elaborate woodcut images of vampires emerging from graves while terrified villages look on, swords raised.
Truthfully, I’m struggling to keep my focus on the book. I keep remembering dancing with a certain infuriating councilwoman last night, and the way her hair felt like silk whenever it fell over my shoulder.
But I’m not thinking about those red knickers.
Not at all.
“I’ve never seen you read a book like that before.” She traces her finger around a dancing demon. “Your books usually have more flowers and fewer severed heads.”
“This is a book of magic. Specifically, it contains protection spells and simple folk remedies that use vampire blood. I took it from the Dusk Court library when I left.”
“You stole a library book?” Hannah looks scandalised. “Aren’t you worried about the fines?”
“Absolutely. Why do you think we live in secret in the woods? Librarians terrify me. I still have nightmares about the one who shushed me in 1891.” I turn a page. “I’m looking for something that might cure my stomach issues.”
“When I have a stomach ache, you take me to a doctor.”
“Yes, but that’s because the doctor can fix you. They can’t fix me because I’m not supposed to get sick.”
I place my hand over my stomach, which churns wildly.
It’s been even worse ever since Komal and I danced at her parents’ house.
Judging by the male genitalia she’s drawn on my campaign posters, she seems to have recovered from her panic attack in the stationery cupboard.
(Although, after studying her artwork, I’m slightly concerned about her knowledge of anatomy…) Which leaves me in the unfortunate situation of being ill with some mysterious malaise and having my rival knowing intimate details about my vampire life, details which she might use against me at any moment.
Why did I tell her so much? Why did I think that would have any impact on her?
I can’t answer that question. All I know is that I started talking and drawing circles on her back, the way I used to do with Hannah when she had nightmares, and her muscles unclenched and her breathing steadied, so I kept talking, and before I knew it, I’d told Komal about my parents, about Isabelle…
… and now I can’t stop thinking about Komal’s red underwear and perfectly formed thighs, and my stomach squirms, and my heart wants to leap out through my nostrils…
“You’d better be feeling better tomorrow,” Hannah says. “Because you promised me my birthday shopping trip.”
I did. But now that it’s nearly here, I’m having second thoughts.
Komal has rallied all the village shopkeepers against me, so very few of them are opening with night hours, which means the few that do will be crowded with vampires.
What if Hannah has an episode? What if they find out the truth about her?
But I promised her. How can I break yet another promise, when she’s so excited?
“I’m sure I will.” I turn the page.
“Maybe you caught something off that woman from the council?” Hannah asks, as if reading my mind. “You’ve been feeling strange since you got trapped in the cupboard with her.”
I lean back in the chair, raking my hand down my face. It would be like Komal to have some rare ailment that can pass from humans to Upyr. And I’m probably dying and she’ll host a dance party on my grave.
I’ve already tried several remedies from this book. I mixed my blood with camel’s milk. (Have you ever tried to find camel’s milk in a British supermarket?) I painted sigils on my face. I performed a humiliating dance under the full moon that had Hannah bent double with hysterics.
If I can’t find anything else to try, I’ll have to do the one thing I swore I’d never do: contact the Dusk Court. They have a library of obscure vampire medical texts that will surely provide answers.
But I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that.
Pulling out my phone, I find Komal’s number on the council contact form and type out a message.
Augustin: Are you in any way afflicted with some kind of magical malaise?
A few moments later, my phone buzzes with a reply.
Komal: Durant, if that’s you, I’m pleased to see you know how to operate a phone.
Komal: And also, what the hell kind of question is that? I’m the picture of health. It’s not my fault if you’re allergic to the sheer magnetism of my presence.
Komal: If you’re hoping for a last-minute reprieve before our big debate, it’s not going to happen. I’m taking you DOWN, coffin-boy.
Komal: And you forgot your shopping list.
She follows this last text with a photograph of a crumpled Post-it note.
I think for a few minutes, then type:
Augustin: Coffin-boy? I’ll have you know I am a coffin-MAN.
Thank you for the list. I knew I’d forgotten my favourite garlic bread.
A moment later, my phone beeps with another message.
Komal: To ease your delicate constitution, Mr Coffin-MAN, I prescribe the Victorian curative of convalescing by the sea, staring wistfully out of a window, and writing terrible poetry. Far, far away from here.
I stare at her message. It’s clearly a joke.
Why is Komal Ahuja joking with me? I recall the wild fear in her eyes as I held her in the closet, the way she clung to me in the dark like I alone could save her.
And the way she felt like liquid in my arms when we danced (before I knocked her into the grass).
I start typing. “You may win at charm, at smiles and spin. You rope unsuspecting voters in. But when it comes to putting Argleton right, you have no chance, for I’ll win the night…”
“What did she say?” Hannah leans across the table. “You’re texting lots!”
Frantic, I hit delete on the absurd little poem.
What am I doing? Why am I attempting to joke with someone who so obviously hates me?
“Nothing.” I toss down my phone and pull the book toward me. “She said nothing useful.”